


clean up the dead you leave behind

by livingdeppgirl



Category: Child's Play/Chucky (Movies)
Genre: Abortion, Alcohol Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Emotional Abuse, F/M, Grief, Not Canon Compliant, Set in 1980s, human chiffany
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-08 03:09:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19862518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livingdeppgirl/pseuds/livingdeppgirl
Summary: Chucky was everything to her. Her best friend, true love, boyfriend, partner in crime. Every inch of her body ached with the immense need to confide in him. Even when he laughed in her face, even when he berated her or ignored her or hurled obscenities across their living room, like bowling balls into the pins that wobbled in her heart… she wanted him. She wanted him to be there for her.She was a million miles away in outer space, clinging to the tether that kept the two of them together.And yet in the heavens above, a tiny dimpled hand reached out for her.





	clean up the dead you leave behind

**Author's Note:**

> * This story is more of a character study. I thought it would be interesting to explore Tiffany as a character within her relationship with Chucky and her relationship to motherhood. You are open to disagree.  
> ** Please do not read if you feel you will be triggered. This fic is not light-hearted.  
> *** Also, I am very very very much pro-choice. Do not take this the wrong way! This is not a comment on abortion or the morality of it. This is about Tiffany and how she would have taken measures to protect herself from herself and Chucky.

**March 10, 1987**

It was 3:04 AM.

Tiffany had just been awoken in a cold sweat. The vivid dream still tumbled around the confines of her skull. Gory imagery, bloody smiles, and laughter. Childish laughter.

Her stomach lurched in response. She covered her mouth and attempted to get out of the bed, but she could not compete with the speed of the nausea. Vomit spewed out of the cracks between the fingers of the hand she'd used to stifle her sickness. She shuddered and moved her hand to her hair, her whole body trembling as the effort rocked her body. Her throat burned. An unwelcome side effect of the flask sitting on her nightstand.

When she was finished, she slowly stepped out of the bed, avoiding the mess on her floor. She panted shallow breaths through her mouth. Inhaling the stench would send her stomach into another convulsion.

She tiptoed to the bathroom and turned the shower on. Cold. Dewdrops of sweat lingered on her forehead. She was already nude, stepping in and shaking as the icy water assaulted her. She let it.

...

Tiffany's cheek was pressed against the cool porcelain of the toilet seat when he walked in.

Chucky leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms. He smirked, but she knew him enough to see the clear blue of his eyes was stained with worry.

It was nice to know he worried sometimes.

"Bad hangover?" he teased.

"You could say that." Another shudder.

His eyebrows knit together. "How much did you drink?" It had the structure of a question, but felt more like a demand. An accusation.

Tiffany moaned. "Can we not talk about alcohol right now?"

He stepped forward, heavy boots slamming the bathroom floor. The sound reverberated in her brain, like knocking on a wooden door. _Thud. Thud. Thud._

His hand wrapped itself around her ponytail and he yanked her head up to look at him. It wasn't painful, not with the whiskey still sloshing in her stomach. Or the wooden door in her head still pounding. Why was everything so _loud?_

"You better fucking pull yourself together before Eddie gets here," he said. His eyes were no longer worried. Just disappointed, like a mother while her child throws a tantrum in the middle of the grocery. Was she that embarrassing? "This drunk shit is ugly on you, TIff."

She knew that.

He let go of her hair suddenly and her head dropped back to the toilet. Her temple thudded against the porcelain. He stood up and walked out of the bathroom, tossing a small bag of something green from his pocket onto the dingy tiles. "This will help," he called over his shoulder.

How sweet.

She vomited again.

...

Eddie showed up early. He knocked, but the sound didn't hurt her anymore. The marijuana was still coursing through her body, wrapping her in a warm blanket of numbness. No headache, no nausea.

Until he opened the door.

He carried take-out bags from some Chinese restaurant under his arms, and a case of beer wrapped in the chokehold of his fist. The aroma wafted through the air.

Sesame chicken, lo mein, and - _Oh_.

Tiffany bolted off the couch to the bathroom she'd resided in most of the day.

Over the sounds of her retching, she heard Chucky hiss, "Dammit."

"What's up with her?" Eddie asked.

Would he make up an excuse? Would he bash her for getting drunk for the fourth night in a row? Would he spit venom from his mouth? Who would he poison this time; her or Eddie?

She stopped listening. She didn't want to know.

**March 16**

Tiffany’s eyes bounced all around the bathroom.

The yellowed ceiling from years of water damage. The cobwebs in the corner. The ring around the drain of the tub with a slight pink tinge. She had never been able to get that stain out.

The tiles under her feet. Her blue painted toenails on curled toes, curled toes that tried desperately to break into the floor below. Maybe if she pressed harder, an abyss would open up and swallow her whole. Instead, it just caused an ache in her feet. The ache was better than the fear.

How long had it been? 3 minutes? It felt like 3 hours. 3 days.

Her brown eyes avoided the sink. Avoided the one place where she would find her answers. A stick balanced precariously on the edge. She couldn’t help but hope it would clatter to the floor and shatter into a million pieces. She’d rather never know the information it held.

The alarm rang. It screamed in her ears. Her heart stopped. She didn’t bother to turn off the blaring noise as she slowly drew herself into a standing position. Her legs quaked.

She couldn’t help but snatch the stick off the sink. Although she didn’t want to know, she _had_ to know. Every muscle, every nerve ending inside her body sizzled with this yearning for truth. This could make or break her.

She finally opened her palm that grasped the plastic stick like a line of rope. She met its gaze.

The little blue plus sign stared back at her. Blue like her freshly painted toenails.

Her vision went blurry. It took her 3 more minutes to realize it was her own tears.

…

She lay next to him now.

He hadn’t been home this often in a while. She usually only saw Chucky once or twice a week. This was the 3rd night in a row he’d stayed.

They lay on their squealing mattress. It creaked every time they moved, she knew from previous experiences. But neither moved now.

It also wasn’t often that he was this close to her.

Her head was on his chest, his arm around her with a hand in her hair. He smelled of cigarette smoke, but she knew his clothes had soaked up the stench in much the same way she basked in his presence now. He didn’t smoke. He smelled like her.

“Chucky?” Her voice was timid.

“Hmm?”

Her head was clearer now. She’d come up with a plan. Tiffany wasn’t stupid. She knew she could put both of their lives in danger if she immediately told him of the little one growing inside her. She had to play her cards right if she wanted either of them to live through this.

It most likely wasn’t going to be both. Was she really ready to die for a stranger?

She tried to keep her tone as cool as possible. A general wondering. “Have you ever thought about… children?” Her voice broke on the second syllable. Damn her.

“What?” he breathed. The disbelief was evident.

She couldn’t turn to look at his face. She focused on the steady beating of his heart, the rise and fall of the breath in his lungs. “I just mean” - she shrugged, completely nonchalant - “have you ever wanted any? Do you want to start a family someday?”

He snorted.

She stiffened.

“Tiff, I get you’re hung up on the domestic thing,” he said. “But I hate kids.” The silence after felt like it warranted more explanation. But he remained relaxed in this atmosphere pregnant with tension.

She pursed her lips. It was good he couldn’t see her right now. The water welling in her eyes. She knew this was the answer she would hear, but she couldn’t help but try. Try to keep this family image she had been building in her mind. The bricks slid apart, the glue she had used was too weak. Her home fell apart in her mind, and the rubble crashed and burned in her ears.

Tiffany kept her voice relaxed. She pondered once more, “So you don’t want a family? With me?”

He sighed. The hint of annoyance wasn’t lost on her. “I love you,” he grumbled. “What more do you want?”

She closed her eyes.

What more could she want?

**March 17**

This was the third cab she had gotten in today.

Tiffany couldn’t risk being followed. Her life was at stake, and the noose above her head felt like it lowered every second. She could feel the brush of rough rope against the top of her hair, and it almost tickled. Funny that the threat of death could be so amusing to her.

She wore her hair up and tucked under a dark hoodie. Sunglasses, though the sky above her was dark. Not a swipe of makeup. She even wore her most shapeless pair of jeans, and muddy sneakers. She’d thought of every way to disguise herself.

The cabbie pulled up to her destination, and she climbed out of the vehicle. She flung the cash to him, but he didn’t count it. He was too eager to speed away from this part of the city of Chicago.

The clinic stared down at her. It wasn’t a very large building, but it thundered with intimidation. Even louder, the protestors standing outside. Picket signs with vile images and degrading comments.

She pulled her hood up further, shoulders down. And braced them head on. Her left hand was still in her pocket, grasping a knife.

Disguise was not the only option.

…

“Ms. Tilly?”

Tiffany’s head snapped up from the magazine she was pretending to read. She put it down and made her way to the call of her pseudonym.

A fair-skinned woman with dark curly hair stood at the door. She smiled. She was friendly and warm, her green eyes shone with kindness. Almost as if she was trying to pass a telepathic message to Tiffany. _You can trust me._

 _No._ Tiffany wanted to say. _I can’t trust anyone._

The door shut behind them, and Tiffany jumped. It felt like her only escape hatch had snapped closed. Her eyes roamed the hallway for an exit.

The woman led her into an intimate office. Not much decoration. Just a wooden desk, a bit scuffed around the edges. Two chairs, one on either side. A computer. And a name tag.

“My name is Glenda,” the woman introduced herself. “I’m the counselor here.”

Tiffany nodded and made her way to her chair at the same time Glenda took her own seat.

“So,” Glenda began. “Would you prefer me to call you Ms. Tilly or Jennifer?”

Tiffany cleared her throat, but her voice remained raspy. The hoarseness would at least protect her identity. “Jennifer’s fine.”

“Okay, Jennifer. What can I do for you today?” She offered up another warm smile like a plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.

She cleared her throat again. “I need an abortion,” she mumbled.

Glenda folded her hands together. “And why is that?”

Why?

_Why?_

She hadn’t prepared herself for this question. All that time she’d spent pondering the night before, and her mind was left blank.

She’d considered transportation. Payment. Method. Alias. An explanation of her whereabouts. Pain treatment. How to fall off the face of the earth if it all crumbled.

But she didn’t include her why in any of her reasoning. Because to her, it was obvious. To survive.

She couldn’t exactly endanger this stranger too.

“Abusive relationship,” she answered shortly. It wasn’t a total lie, but not the full truth. Half lies had become so easy to slip off her tongue. “It wouldn’t be safe.” _And neither would I._

“Ah,” Glenda nodded. “Do you want to talk more about it, Jennifer?”

Her green eyes were so warm. Algae resting on top of a still pond in the middle of summer. Tiffany wanted to be open, she wanted to trust someone with her pain. It was eating her alive to be alone.

But the monster behind her wooden door growled. He knocked menacingly, a death march in the pounding of his fists. He enjoyed it. She hid her smile.

Was it a smile? Or a grimace?

Was there a difference?

“No.” She wasn’t sure whose question she had answered.

**March 18**

The doctor’s name was Charles. She thought that was quite amusing, but insisted on calling him Dr. Steiner.

She’d found out quite a lot from Dr. Steiner.

She was seven weeks along.

The embryo inside her belly was the size of a blueberry now. It measured about a half an inch.

Her nausea was very common at this stage. Food aversions, cravings, cramping, acne, and mood swings were a part of the package deal.

It was likely her alcohol consumption hadn’t harmed it this early. That put her mind at ease.

She had to hear the heartbeat. That set her mind on fire.

She listened to 108 beats in one minute. Each beat was answered by a knock behind her wooden door. Two worlds that could not exist together. But so similar in so many ways.

Dr. Steiner informed her on the procedure, but she hardly listened. She wasn’t afraid of the physical pain. She just stared at her hand, her hand rested upon her flat tummy. Curious how something so small could inflict so much pain.

The thought made her smirk. So much like her. So much like her child to turn the tables on her. Give her a taste of her own medicine.

She was given time to think her decision over. She didn’t take it. In fact, when she was left alone with her thoughts, she focused on a week from now.

She would have to buy sugar.

Laundry would need done by then.

Chucky would not be home on Wednesday.

She was $31 short on the electric bill.

Normal. Regular. Another Jane Doe on the street with bills and a home and a _life_. That’s all these people saw her as, and that was the headspace she forced herself to remain in.

Dr. Steiner knocked her out for the procedure. She’d wanted it that way.

But it was all she could do not to fight the numb dark clouds in her brain when they finally took over.

**March 20**

She was still bleeding.

This pain was familiar to her. At first it had knocked the wind out of her, but now it felt like any other cycle she’d experienced.

She had paid with cash.

Chucky was diligent about cash. “You don’t want to get caught because your dumbass had to use a credit card for a bag of corn nuts at 7/11,” he’d say.

He had taught her everything she knew to escape his wrath.

How to hide. How to lie. How to distract.

Even how to fight back.

But she knew she couldn’t outrun him on this. So she kept it hidden, under the guise she’d gotten her period early. She lied that she was in too much pain to move from the couch. She distracted him with Swedish meatballs and his favorite television programs.

He rubbed her feet last night. That was nice.

Tiffany was in the tub when he came around the corner.

“Hot water,” she explained. He just nodded.

“I told Eddie I would stay here tonight.”

Her head snapped up. She was a live wire suddenly. She was jolted with a shock of fear. In passing, she could hide.

But Chucky? With her?

All night?

She averted his gaze. “Okay,” she shrugged.

He sighed, “I feel like I haven’t talked to you in weeks, Tiff. What’s wrong with you?”

She got out of the tub, and shivered in the cold air of the apartment. Droplets of water slithered down her body in snakelike trails. She reached for her towel, but he grabbed it first and set it atop her shoulders.

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

He narrowed his eyes. “I’m not stupid.”

“I never said you were.”

He grabbed her arms in each hand. Her flesh burned in response. He was never gentle, even when he was pulling her close to him.

His mouth found hers. He kissed her hard. His lips were dry and soaked up the water on her face. He ran one hand up her spine and into her hair, yanking her away.

She’d barely kissed back.

He’d noticed.

“Where _are_ you?” he whispered.

There was so much she wanted to say.

Chucky was everything to her. Her best friend, true love, boyfriend, partner in crime. Every inch of her body ached with the immense need to confide in him. Even when he laughed in her face, even when he berated her or ignored her or hurled obscenities across their living room, like bowling balls into the pins that wobbled in her heart… she wanted him. She wanted him to be there for her.

She was a million miles away in outer space, clinging to the tether that kept the two of them together. 

And yet in the heavens above, a tiny dimpled hand reached out for her. Wanting to pull her to safety and to grace. To the life she deserved.

If their love could move mountains, why could she not move heaven right there into their arms?

She took a deep breath. “I’m right here,” she said.

It was as if gravity had yanked her back to his earth yet again.

This time she met his lips with urgency. She grabbed his hand and slipped it between her thighs. The wetness there could have been water, blood, or of her own creation. But he accepted it and slipped a finger inside her, met with a hiss against his teeth.

It was painful. But not as painful as pushing him away in her darkest hour.

They never made it from the bathroom tiles.

…

She awoke before the sunrise, and her arms were empty.

Her fingers clawed at the floor, and her nails clicked as they found nothing but a hard cold surface where a hard cold man had been.

She was still bleeding. It was like a freshly scabbed wound had been scratched open. The thick scarlet liquid felt sticky between her thighs. Strangely, the pain she felt did not throb where she had imagined it would. It didn’t ache between her legs, or in her heart. That was where his absence normally rooted itself.

No. She felt this pain in the core of her abdomen.

Her hand drifted down to clutch at her empty stomach. A belly that would never be swollen with the gift of motherhood.

This was the first time she’d thought of it as a baby.

That’s what it would have grown into. Chubby cheeks. Glowing eyes, tiny fingernails, squealing laughter. She would have wiped drool from its slobbery chin, changed its soiled diapers, and stayed up all night with chapped nipples and running mascara while it wailed in her arms.

That all sounded preferable to lying here on this bathroom floor, bleeding, naked and alone.

She wondered if it would have been a boy or a girl.

She pictured a beautiful baby girl. Her brown eyes copied and pasted onto her face like a picture out of a magazine glued onto her wallpaper. Her baby would have curls like him. A round face like Tiffany’s, but the chiseled bones would protrude as her little girl got older. Time would shape her into her father.

Enough time could shape anyone into Chucky.

And that was why she knew she had made the right decision.

Because although she grieved the opportunity she had lost to create something beautiful, something meaningful… she also knew she was blessed with the opportunity to save someone. She’d saved someone from becoming just like her. Just like him. Just like the monster her baby would have become.

Tiffany couldn’t provide life to a child the way she wanted to. Chucky would have chased them to the ends of the earth. He would have pasted white out on the pages of their story together, erased her and her baby from his life. Or he would have wanted them all to be together so desperately, he would have destroyed all of them in the process.

She shuddered at the thought of this beautiful innocent baby being corrupted by him. By both of them. A young woman with blood on her face, a blade in her hand, and a smile. Childish laughter turned to maniacal peals in her mind and it was enough to make her claw at her flat belly again. To remind herself she had prevented her worst fear.

Tiffany loved Chucky. She loved him so desperately, so completely, so selflessly, she would put anyone at risk to make him happy.

She wouldn’t do that to her baby.

Tiffany hadn’t lost anything. She enjoyed the thrill of not knowing what was yet to come. She loved the feeling of holding her life in her own hands the way she had held those of so many others, before ripping them away. She was happy.

In the midst of lying beaten and broken in a cold Chicago apartment bathroom.

She was happy.

And somehow, she drifted back to sleep.

...

When she awoke again, she found she was wrapped in a scratchy blanket. The offensive fabric clawed at her naked flesh. Sunlight streamed through the tiny dirty window above her head. It bounced off the mirror and into her eyes.

Chucky stood directly in front of her. He smiled. Not a smirk, a genuine smile. “Did you sleep well?” he teased.

And she smiled back.

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoyed this and found some sort of value in it as a story. Tiffany is such a complex character, it was incredibly mind-opening to study her in this situation.


End file.
